


Delectable Degradation

by witchfire24



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angry Kylo Ren, Boot Worship, Control Issues, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dubious Consent, Finger Sucking, Forced Masturbation, Gloves, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Leather, Loss of Control, M/M, Milicent the Cat allusions, Orgasm Control, Sexual Frustration, Submissive Hux, Virgin Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchfire24/pseuds/witchfire24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren will not take Hux’s disrespect lying down. Sitting down while Hux kneels before him, yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delectable Degradation

**Author's Note:**

> Taking place after scene 36 – when Kylo Ren and Hux meet with Snoke and Hux is a big smug jerk. (As if being a mass-murdering, planet-killing psycho isn’t enough of a social handicap.)
> 
> The movie doesn't really have room for it, but neither the book or movie state Kylo Ren went straight back to Rey after Snoke.

“ _You_ do not summon _me_ ,” General Hux says, the doors whooshing shut behind him. He stands before Kylo Ren, hands behind his back, not like a contrite schoolboy but like a haughty schoolmaster, shoulders back: his usual posture. His stark black uniform, jodhpurs, and tight, gleaming knee-high boots radiate authority. “This is my base. _I_ summon _you_.”

“And yet here you are,” Kylo Ren replies, voice cold and almost robotic through his helmet’s modulator but still very much his, unable to mask the unusual speech patterns and odd enunciations that make him sound as if he learned to speak from reading books by authors who over-favored italics. He sits on a black leather seat corner of his dimly lit chamber, still swathed in his rather unnecessary cloak, his equally unnecessary hood covering his masked face in deep shadows.  

Kylo Ren does not need to say more. He knows Hux is afraid of him. He would be a fool not to be. And General Hux is many things—a mindless slave to bureaucracy, an icy paper pusher hiding in his base while he sends others to be shot out of the sky—but he is no fool.

“You have undermined me before the Supreme Leader for the last time,” Kylo Ren continues. He had been willing to let the snide looks go—for the time being, at least, though Kylo Ren is not a patient young man—but the priggish zeal with which the redheaded general had leapt to tell the Supreme Leader that it was _Kylo Ren’s_ fault they had failed to capture the droid—that is not something he can overlook.

Worst of all, it _was_ his fault. Perhaps that is why his simmering hatred of the other man is only now bubbling freely to the surface instead of after Hux’s countless other offenses. _Coldly_ simmering hatred, more like something Hux might feel, feeding a wintry rage entirely unlike his usual infantile fits of rage.

It was a novel feeling for Kylo. Was this how Hux felt towards him? Ice-cold hatred burning a whole in his chest. Deeply unsatisfying ice-cold hatred. Perhaps that explained Hux’s demeanor. At least hot anger ended in a satisfying fit of rage.

“Are you going to kill me?” Hux sneers. “Even you are not that reckless.”

“I am going to break you,” Kylo Ren says, rising.

A shameful chill slithers down Hux’s spine at his words. Kylo Ren is not very much taller than Hux, but the length of his robes and uniform blackness of his costume makes him look much taller that he is, which is already considerable. Hux is not a fanciful man, but Kylo Ren’s long robes and sinister helmet combine to make him imagine a corpse still covered in its tattered black shrouds, his hood making the knight look like the Reaper of Souls of primitive superstition, claiming souls with his flaming red sword instead of rusty metal scythe.

The only color in the room is Hux’s flaming hair, blue eyes, and red insignia. Everything else is either gleaming black or dull black, with hints of shining silver metal here and there, as if the person who designed the chamber had made it with Kylo Ren’s dual nature in mind.

Despite being accustomed to the bleakness of the rest of the base, the chamber’s almost unrelieved blackness does not help Hux’s growing sense of forbidding. He forces a derisive laugh. “I am a general, Ren. Or have you forgotten?”

“I forget nothing, _general_ ,” Kylo Ren says, intentionally addressing Hux by his title, not “Armitage,” even as Hux insists on disrespecting him with only half his name. The higher the fall, the more satisfying the bone-breaking splat at the bottom.

 Kylo grips the air as he speaks the word _General_ , his black leather glove creaking in the crushing silence of his chamber, and Hux is jerked in the air by an invisible hand and pulled across the room to Kylo. Despite himself Hux gives a strangled cry and clutches at his throat, the animal need for air momentarily overcoming his icy hauteur. Then, as if he remembers who is doing this to him, he lets his arms drop to his side, fighting every instinct to claw uselessly at his throat.

Kylo yanks at the air and Hux is flung to his knees, free, the skirt of his greatcoat spread out around him, his white face red, struggling to take modest breaths instead of the huge rasping gasps of air his lungs are crying out for.

“Is that all?” he chokes out, somehow managing to maintain his prim clipped tones even as he speaks through bluish lips, but his voice rises half-hysterically as he goes on, over enunciating as he does when his blood is up, the demented look Kylo Ren has only rare occasion to see flaming in his eyes. “Your tricks mean nothing to me! _I_ command Starkiller Base! _I_! The Supreme Leader takes _my_ counsel— _my_ counsel!—while you are nothing more than a runaway whelp he adopted to use as a _tool_ —”

“And yet you kneel before me.”

“Your tricks mean nothing, you are nothing, a performing lizard-monkey on a leash—”

Kylo reaches out, his black-gloved fingers mere inches away from Hux’s face. Too close, too intimate.

“You will degrade yourself,” he says, his robotic voice low, “in the ways that are most shameful to you.”

Kylo Ren knows what this means in ways Hux has never allowed himself to understand. He has probed Hux’s mind in the past, trying to gain an advantage over his rival (and it makes his jaw clench to just think about the fact that he might _need_ an advantage), and has seen _things_ as alien to him as they are to Hux. Only Hux represses those things, locks them away in the same dark closet he keeps anything reminiscent of the softer emotions, of mercy and pity and love, while Kylo Ren had unpacked them from the general’s mind and examined them curiously.  

Hux kneels before Kylo Ren, shaking, and then his shoulders relax, almost stoop. He sits back on his heels, head level with Kylo Ren’s wide black belt, waiting.

“I will degrade myself,” he says, his voice emotionless, “in the ways that are most shameful to me.”

 _No_ , thinks Kylo Ren. _This is not right._

“And you will maintain full awareness of what is happening,” Kylo Ren says. “No aspect of your humiliation will you be spared.”

There. Now things are right.

He relishes the dismay in the general’s pale blue eyes as Hux repeats his words.

This show of authority would be meaningless if the man was not going to remember it, were the general not to be agonizingly aware of every detail of his delectable degradation, not able to twitch and flinch like a beautiful creature on a vivisection table.

Kylo Ren moves his leg slightly, his black robes falling over his knee, revealing his knee-high boots. Hux continues to kneel, very still, as if waiting for instructions, and when he receives none he leans forward with both gloved hands spread on the cold onyx floor, head bowed. Inch by inch he leans further down until his face is mere inches from Kylo’s feet.

The two commanders’ boots—indeed, all of their clothing—can be used to instantly sum up their personalities and differences. Kylo Ren’s boots are well-worn, the footwear of a commander who actually goes out into the field. His cloak has very visible ragged edges, his helmet is scratched and one can clearly see the bumps and ridges—the work of an inexperienced tradesperson, perhaps even Kylo Ren himself. His grooved black gloves are not closely fitted, his robes too long. The impression is of a battle-hardened warrior who cares about his appearance mostly as it strikes fear into the hearts of others, of one too consumed by his private obsessions to truly care how he looks. He stands with a slightly stooped posture that belies his skill as a swordsman, adding to the something slightly “off” about his look, a hint at the unhinged man beneath the helmet that instills dread.

Hux, on the other hand, is all about appearances. Ramrod straight back; perfectly fitted black gloves; gleaming, tight black boots; well-cut uniform tunic of an expensive, slightly shimmery black—immaculate, with never so much as a stray red cat hair. His red hair is neatly trimmed, his face smoothly shaven. The look of a haughty bureaucrat who respects his high position and dresses to make sure everyone else can clearly see that.

He walks the way he dresses, striding proudly with hands clasped behind him, shoulders back, while Kylo Ren stoops and walks with a heavy tread, as if he had gotten used to making himself unobtrusive as a child yet still demanded attention—as indeed Hux often views him. Hux is smug and overconfident, while Kylo is—though Hux only barely suspects this—actively insecure.

The general is sharp and clean and antiseptic looking, while Kylo looks wild, draped in frayed black layers. Hux is tightly controlled, allowing himself only the very rare passionate outburst in service of the First Order, while Kylo is given to fiery tantrums that result in the destruction of millions of credits worth of equipment and yet can exhibit deep Hux-like coldness at times.

A childish brat is how Hux has thought of him many times, and yet—

And yet this faceless young man is the only one who can truly harm him.

Oh, any stormtrooper with a blaster can shoot him in the back, but is a general and none would dare.

 _Nobody_ he comes into contact with would dare.

But Kylo Ren…Kylo Ren is the one person mad enough to truly hurt Hux, be it in a fit of mad rage or out of ambition, and the one man or woman on the base Hux knows he can never have under any remote circumstance. The combination of these two things spark his deeply-buried…not _fantasies_ , he would not allow himself that indignity, but the occasional shameful dream…

And now he is kneeling before Kylo Ren in his private chamber, knowing full well that Kylo would dismember him with that sputtering red lightsaber without blinking, add him to his collection of ashes without another thought, all the while knowing full well he still can’t have the knight, and the thought starts a shameful throbbing in his jodhpurs.

Hux finds himself leaning forward, breathing in the smell of ancient boot polish, able to count every scratch and scuff on the surface of the boots.

 _You will degrade yourself in the ways that are most shameful to you,_ echoes Kylo’s voice in his head, and on impulse he bends further down and kisses Kylo’s boot.

The leather is soft beneath his lips. He puts his face against it, pressing his forehead to the strap reaching around Kylo’s ankle, rubbing his cheeks on the supple leather. He’s always been something of a germaphobe, and the fact that he’s allowing—not allowing; accepting, practically _instigating_ —this disgusts him even more than being on his knees before Kylo.

“Lick it,” Kylo orders, as if he knows exactly what Hux is thinking.

Hux extends his tongue and licks a broad wet stripe up the side of Kylo’s shin, tasting bitter boot polish and the dirt of a dozen planets. He laps at Kylo’s ankle, nuzzling it with his nose, running his tongue over the stretches in the leather, over the ankle strap, flicking the tip of his tongue over the edge of the strap, trying not relish the contrast between the sharpness of the strap and the smoothness of the leather around it, until Kylo’s foot shoots out and kicks him in the head, sending Hux sprawling to the floor.

Hux lies before Kylo, head throbbing, the throb in his jodhpurs turning into a painful ache. He has never felt like this before, so completely outmatched, not in the near death matches in military school, not during the battle simulations so realistic they were known to cause heart attacks. He is completely, utterly helpless, and the thought that he is wholly the mercy of a man not known for his mercy makes him bite back a…not a moan. Generals do not moan. It’s more of a…

“No, that was unquestionably a moan,” Kylo Ren chuckles. “You liked that, did you not?”

“Stay out of my head!” Hux snaps at him, scrambling to salvage his last shreds of dignity.

“You left those at the door, _general_.”

Hux’s cheeks burn pink, adding another flicker of color to the black and gray room.

Kylo Ren shifts, putting one heavy booted foot on Hux’s throat, twisting it slightly, smearing Hux’s pale skin with dirt.

Hux closes his eyes and tries not to think about where that boot has been, what foul things are being spread over his throat. He swallows hard, feeling his Adam’s apple bob painfully against Kylo’s heavy boot sole. Kylo pushes harder and Hux turns his head away.

“Prefer me to use Force, don’t you,” said Kylo. “Or perhaps by hand? More…personal.”

Hux doesn’t respond, but he opens his eyes. Closed eyes are a sign of submission.

“You’re parsecs past that point now,” says Kylo. “And I asked you a question. How do you prefer for me to choke you?”

Hux clenches his jaw.

Kylo leans forward and grabs Hux by the hair, bright red locks almost glowing against his black leather gloves, yanking him up to waist-height.

“By hand!” Hux gasps. “With gloved hands—”

“You like my gloves, don’t you?” Kylo shoves his free hand into Hux’s mouth, deep enough to make the general gag. He swirls a leather gloved finger around Hux’s tongue, stroking Hux’s jaw with his free thumb in a way Hux finds a thousand times more humiliating than the fingers down his throat.

“Suck,” Kylo orders, removing his fingers from Hux’s mouth and holding them three inches away, enough for Hux to have to lean in to reach.

Every atom in Hux’s body longs for him to spring to his feet and strike Kylo, make him pay for this degradation, but his shoulders slump and he obediently leans forward to lap at Kylo’s fingers, Kylo’s fist still firmly clamping his hair.

He swallows Kylo’s long middle finger, made fatter by his thick leather glove, the extra leather at the tip bumping the back of his throat in a way that made his cock jump, sucking it hard enough to leave a mark had it been mere skin.

Boldly he moves his head back and bites at the tip of Kylo’s glove, yanking it off, licking a long line up Kylo’s bare palm, around the base of his long slender fingers, gently scraping his teeth over the surprisingly soft skin, made over-sensitive by always being covered by a protective glove—

And suddenly Kylo Ren has slammed him back to the floor, this time both his hands at his throat.

 _“I didn’t order you to do that!”_ Kylo snaps at him, an uncomfortable feeling growing under his long black robes, the wet skin around his bare fingers still tingling from the hot wet ministrations of Hux’s tongue. He takes refuge in his anger, comforting red anger, not whatever that icy Hux-like nonsense was before. _“You do as I say, and only what I say!”_

Hux nods, and Kylo releases him and rises, towering over the sprawled general.

“Show it to me, scum!” Kylo pulls his glove back on, seeking comfort in the thick layer of deadening leather, willing the throbbing in his groin away. He is gripping his lightsaber, more for the reassuring feel of it in his hand than because he truly means to use it. “Stand and show me your shame!”

Kylo Ren sits back down in his throne-like seat and Hux rises, trembling with he wants to believe is anger but Kylo knows very well is arousal. Slowly, Hux removes his greatcoat and uniform tunic, revealing his tight black tank top beneath it and the large bulge between in his jodhpurs.

His arms and chest are more toned than Kylo Ren would have expected, but the loss of his tunic makes him look almost frail. Kylo Ren chuckles, a sound made chilling and robotic through his helmet.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

Hux turns his face away. His gloves creak as he clenches his fists behind his back in a desperate imitation of his usual authoritative pose. A wet spot has started to form on the front of his jodhpurs, barely noticeable thanks to the darkness of the material, but he knows Kylo Ren has seen it. Of course he has. A childish barbarian the man may be, but little escapes him. Though could ever know what was going on inside that helmet. Hux half-wishes Kylo would remove his helmet, let him see his face, while the other half knows that to have evidence that this indignity was being inflicted upon him by a very human young man and not a masked black monster would only increase his humiliation.

Kylo looks at Hux, considering this, then removes his helmet with a clicking little pneumatic hiss.

He sits there, bare-faced, looking at Hux standing red-faced before him. Hux has seen him without his mask before, of course, but only in the presence of the Supreme Leader. He has never seen Kylo look like anything other than a knight trying to please his lord, or a fellow commander man struggling to keep up with him, or an obedient servant. He has only peripherally noticed that despite how unusual as Kylo’s features are—or perhaps because of it—the young man can be considered almost beautiful from the right angles. With his long hair and full mouth he might almost be mistaken for a poet.

There is nothing poetic about him now. Hux has never seen the hungry look in Kylo’s hypnotic brown eyes, the sadistic twist to his full lips. The remains of his former fury still cling to his long angular face and remind Hux of the coals that burn millimeters beneath the surface, needing little to stir them up into a raging inferno.

There is nothing of a servant about him now, either, nothing that even hints at someone scrambling to save face with his master. He is an apex predator, and General Hux, commander of Starkiller Base, under the direct command of Supreme Leader Snoke, is his prey.

He knows Kylo Ren has no intention of putting him out of his misery anytime soon.  

All this flashes through Hux’s mind in less time than it takes Kylo to set his helmet down, the jumble of impressions making Hux’s erection strain even more painfully against the rather fitted material of his jodhpurs.

“What do you wish to do now, general?” Kylo asks. As if Hux has any say in what’s happening.

“I wish for you stop with your infernal mind tricks and let me get back to my duties,” Hux says as coldly as he can manage. He regrets it immediately. There’s an unbecoming hitch in his voice when he speaks, and he never should have used the word “let.”

“Will your ‘duties’ include attending to that?” Kylo gestures at Hux’s very obvious problem. “Tell me the truth, general.”

“Yes.” Hux’s voice is barely audible. Despite his best intentions his face is twisted, wanting, pleading, his entire world shrunk down to the painful _need_ between his legs.

Kylo Ren leans back in his chair.

“Let me go,” Hux says, struggling to speak in his usual priggish tones. “Ren, this is ridiculous—”

“Beg. For what you really want, for the filthy thing you wish for me to allow you to go do in your chamber.”

Silence.

Kylo eyes the general, waiting. He can wait all night. The waiting is the best part.

Hux takes a deep breath.

Kylo does not move.

Then, “I want release,” Hux hears himself saying, raising his chin. He meets Kylo’s eye and looks away. “Please.”

Perfect.

“Release?” says Kylo, raising his dark eyebrows.

Hux closes his eyes. This is a thousand times worse than having Kylo’s boot on his throat. To say the words out loud, he who has gleaned everything he knows about sex from educational books—not even holovids. It has always been something to be taken care of alone in the dark of his chamber, and only in rare moments brought about by ultimate weakness.

“Masturbate,” Hux blurts out. “I need to masturbate!”

“And how is that done?”

For a moment Hux truly believes that Kylo is innocent, but then he sees the look in Kylo’s eyes. The same look his cat has when she plays with her toys.

“The manual stimulation of the genitals,” Hux responds, and the shame he feels at saying that out loud, at practically admitting to a tremendously shameful personal failing, that he, General Hux, should be above, is a physical pain in his chest.

“Don’t let me stop you,” said Kylo Ren, leaning forward slightly, then leaning back as if catching himself.

And then Hux is getting back down on his knees, because what choice does he have? This is all Kylo’s doing, him and his bloody Jedi mind tricks, this is not Hux—

Hux undoes the front of his jodhpurs and reaches inside, praying that Kylo does not ask to truly see it, force him to lay every last inch of his humiliation raw and bare before the dark knight. He has wrapped his fingers around his swollen cock when Kylo speaks again.

“Is this how you would ‘attend to your duties’ in your chamber, general?”

_Blast it._

Hux shakes his head.

“Do not disappoint me, general.”

Wincing, Hux slowly pulls his cock from his jodhpurs. It’s larger than Kylo would have thought. It sits fat and red in the general’s gloved hand, painfully engorged, precum leaking from the glistening red tip in a steady flow that drips between Hux’s fingers and onto the shining black floor. Rough curls are visible above it, the same brilliant red as Hux’s hair.

Kylo drinks it all in, fascinated, reveling in the shame even a non-Force-user can feel radiating off the general, then remembers that his face is exposed and almost flinches.

“Do it,” he orders, assuming an expressionless look. “So I can see. And do not finish until I grant you permission.”

Hux grips his cock tighter and runs his fingers up and down his thick shaft, making sure Kylo can see, the knowledge of the knight’s scorn making every nerve in his body crackle. Gloved fingers coated in precum, he slides his hand up and down, sending waves of pleasure up through his stomach despite his best intentions.

“Not so fast,” Kylo says.

Hux forces himself to slow down, but he can only keep that up for a minute. His hand moves faster and faster, thumb rubbing his glistening red head, then he stops for a moment and begins to thrust into his fist with what he, had been watching himself, would have called wanton abandon.

He gasps, feeling his balls tighten.

“Please,” he pants, the sound of his own pleading voice almost tipping him over the edge. “Please!”

“Please what, general?”

“Please let me come!”

“Do it,” says Kylo Ren, and then Hux is hissing as his orgasm rushes through him, cum spurting out onto Kylo’s boots, painting them with sticky white streaks.

Hux falls forward on his hands, breathing heavily, cock bobbing between his legs. It’s been months since he’s done this. Jedi mind trick be damned, he was nothing but _weak_.

“Is this what you do in your chambers, general?” Kylo asks. “Leave your filth for all to see?”

Hux does not need to be told what to do. He crawls forward and licks his cum from Kylo’s boots, the almost slurping sound it makes too loud in the silent chamber.

“That’s a good boy,” Kylo says mockingly as Hux licks him clean. He reaches down to the pat Hux’s head, mussing his red locks. “I wonder what your men would say if they saw you like this.”

Hux closes his eyes against the thought, willing his cock not to twitch to life again.  

“Be glad I did not inflict that upon you,” Kylo says.

Hux straightens up, wiping his mouth, and tries to smooth his wild hair with his fingers. The desperate little attempt to regain at least some pride, to fix his appearance, so clearly shows how aware Hux is of his degradation that Kylo cannot help but swallow hard.

“You, on your knees before me on the parade grounds, for all to see,” Kylo continues, wishing the image did not make him feel the things it did. Not while Hux was there. Not ever. He reaches for his mask and puts it on, the final barrier against the world. “A gleaming black leather collar to match your gloves and boots.”

“I suppose you can make me do anything you wish for me to do,” Hux says bitterly, slipping his tunic and greatcoat back on with trembling hands.

“You do know the mind trick only works on weak minds,” Kylo says. “Do you not?”

Hux freezes, then turns.

His is not a weak mind.

Beneath his mask, Kylo Ren allows himself a small smile.

“Until next time, general,” he says.


End file.
